


Priorities

by weirdmilk



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, a low-key getting together fic, boys figurin shit out, like... very low-key and chill, pretty dialogue-heavy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-17 02:29:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14823503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weirdmilk/pseuds/weirdmilk
Summary: ‘I just -’ Oikawa begins, ‘it might be difficult to get married, sometimes, I think.’ He chews on his lip.Iwaizumi makes a questioning noise.‘Ah,’ Oikawa says, and then, in a rush, ‘if I didn't want a wife at all - what then? If I said that to you. If I told you I can’t see it. Like - the wedding dress. The bride. I just can’t see it.’Iwaizumi swallows again, his heart beating much faster than the conversation warrants. He wonders whether Oikawa can hear it. ‘You’re eighteen. You aren’t supposed to see it yet.’ He snorts. ‘I mean - if we’re sharing shit, I’ve never even kissed a girl.’ He doesn’t mind admitting it. It’s not something that bothers him - he’s never prioritised girls very highly, and despite Oikawa’s largely undeserved status as Miyagi’s most eligible teenage bachelor, he doesn’t think Oikawa has ever wanted a serious relationship with any of his fan club, either.Oikawa and Iwaizumi can't sleep before their first practice match with Karasuno.





	Priorities

It’s close to eleven at night when Iwaizumi leaves his house and gently closes the door behind him. The air is cold, but not unpleasantly so: the sharp chill on his bare arms is enlivening, and full of potential.

He’s been unable to sleep for a few hours now, feeling simultaneously sluggish and alert. An unfamiliar nervousness is churning like butter inside him. Before games there is always the anticipation, the butterflies - but for him, it’s always been matched with equal amounts of excitement. Tonight, he feels overwhelmed with trepidation at the thought of playing the next day’s match. It’s only a practice match. It doesn’t matter. He knows that. But it’s against Kageyama, the boy wonder, and the thought of having to play the match without Oikawa is bothersome.

But then again, Iwaizumi thinks, darkly, maybe limiting Oikawa’s direct contact with Kageyama is for the best.

He wanders down his empty street. It’s quiet, but not silent: a breeze moves the branches, and they brush against each other in whispering conference. He stops at the gate of an old playground - one of his favourite childhood haunts, especially when Oikawa came too. He pauses for a moment, before pushing at the iron gate. It groans when he pushes it; it hasn’t been oiled in a while. He is reminded, intensely, of being seven years old, and he and Oikawa pushing the gate open together, because it’s too heavy for either of them to do it alone. But he is alone, now, and he can move it with one hand, and it’s easy.

He makes his way towards the swing-set so he can sit down. He’s planning to just sit for a while - to let his thoughts run laps around his head until they tire - but as he approaches, he spots a shadow already on one of the seats.

‘Oh,’ he says, ‘sorry, I didn’t -’

The shadow moves forward, so that his face is cast in half-light by the moon.

‘Iwa-chan?’ the shadow says, sounding taken aback, and Iwaizumi stares in astonishment at Oikawa, perched on the swing in front of him, legs so long that they’re nearly parallel to the ground.

‘Oikawa?’ Iwaizumi can't believe his own eyes. ‘What the fuck?’

‘Couldn’t sleep,’ Oikawa says, with a shrug.

Iwaizumi considers the options in front of him. He could squawk like a parent - tell Oikawa he’s being stupid, he’ll be exhausted tomorrow, get into bed, idiot. Or he could be honest. He could tell Oikawa that he couldn’t sleep, either - that he’s worried, too, that he’ll miss him, tomorrow. He makes his decision.

‘Me neither,’ Iwaizumi admits, slumping into the next swing. ‘What’s up with you?’

‘Just thinking about the game,’ Oikawa says, sighing. Iwaizumi had assumed as much, but it’s a good sign that Oikawa has admitted it outright. It means he's not playing any games, tonight. ‘If I’m lucky, I’ll be there for like, half of it. Our first game with him. Can you believe it? Why am I such an -’ He inhales sharply and stops talking, lifting his hand to his mouth to chew on a fingernail.

‘How’s your knee?’ Iwaizumi asks, as an attempt to bring Oikawa back to earth. 

Oikawa shrugs. ‘It’s fine. It doesn’t hurt much.’ He bends his knee a few times to prove it, and the motion is reassuringly smooth. Iwaizumi had known that it hadn’t been one of Oikawa’s more serious injuries, but he still takes pleasure in the sight of the joint’s easy movement. He still doesn’t believe Oikawa's self-destructive streak to be fully conquered, so he privately celebrates every sprain that could have been a break, every scrape that could have bled, every bruise that stays small.

‘Did you walk here?’

‘Yeah,’ Oikawa says, ‘it was fine.’ He shrugs again. He’s being uncharacteristically quiet. ‘I’m seeing my physio tomorrow. She’ll clear me to play or not. I’ll miss some of it either way. But I might get there in time for the end.’ He smiles weakly. ‘A dramatic entrance.’

Iwaizumi claps Oikawa on the back, briskly. ‘Maybe we’ll play better without inhaling your hairspray fumes.’

Oikawa splutters. ‘It’s - it’s not hairspray, Iwa-chan, do you think we’re still in 1985?’ He slides a scowl across the dark space between them. ‘Just because you’ve had the same haircut since you were born doesn't mean we all have to.’

Iwaizumi laughs, and Oikawa grins back, and for a moment the heaviness recedes. But Oikawa’s mouth slowly sinks back into a straight line, and Iwaizumi's heart sinks along with it. 

‘So stupid.’ Oikawa gazes absently at the ground. ‘I - he’s going to laugh at me, I’m so stupid - why do I always -’

‘Hey,’ Iwaizumi interrupts, ‘no, don’t start that again. Also, have you even seen Kageyama laugh, ever? I don’t think he knows how.’ He snorts. 'Plus you know he's still terrified of you.'

Oikawa continues to stare at the ground, but he half-smiles, so Iwaizumi counts it as a victory. ‘The day Tobio-chan stops fearing me is the day I die,' he says, with feeling. 'I just wanted him to - see the difference, you know.’ He sighs heavily, and Iwaizumi sighs too, resisting the urge to touch him. 

‘He’ll see it.’ Iwaizumi thinks, I see it. 

‘I might not even _be_ there.’

‘We’ll cover for you,’ Iwaizumi says. ‘Do I need to have another talk with you about how many people are on a volleyball team, because I thought we’d worked that one out three years ago -’ He’s cut off by Oikawa kicking him with his good leg. That one’s definitely a victory.

‘I know,’ Oikawa mumbles, and Iwaizumi frowns as Oikawa’s smile melts back into a mild moroseness. He sighs, again. ‘It’s stupid. I know.’

‘Shittykawa, I swear -’

‘He’s so young,’ Oikawa murmurs, slicing straight through Iwaizumi’s attempt to speak.

Iwaizumi splutters. ‘I’m gonna murder you - you’re eighteen! Not exactly retirement age -’

‘Eighteen,’ Oikawa says, still smiling with something that looks like sadness. ‘It’s so much older than sixteen. Sixteen is like - potential. Eighteen is like - you’re kind of there, already. It’s downhill from there, isn’t it? High school is the best time of your life. Everyone says that.’ He bites at his thumbnail and rubs his shoe across the grey asphalt. ‘My whole life behind me,’ he says, spreading his arms for a moment, and laughs bitterly.

Iwaizumi feels powerless in the face of Oikawa’s unpredictable sadnesses; he always has done. But he fights it, because he always has done. ‘High school doesn’t mean shit,’ he says gruffly. ‘Once you leave you’ll go to college, which is the same shit anyway, and then you’ll graduate college and go pro, and then you’ll retire and coach some little asshole kids who think you’re amazing.’

Oikawa laughs. ‘They’ll be right, then,’ he says, and it’s a feeble rejoinder, but it’s something.

‘Asshole,’ Iwaizumi mutters, relieved, weakly shoving at Oikawa’s shoulder so that he swings a little to the left. ‘But yeah, they will,’ he adds, and hopes the darkness hides the heat in his cheeks.

Oikawa’s hand stops fiddling with his sleeve, and he raises an eyebrow. Something in Oikawa’s eyes is different. Iwaizumi looks away and checks the time on his phone - it’s just an excuse to break the strange, vibrating energy. It’s nearly midnight. He has to be awake in less than seven hours, but he can’t imagine leaving their private universe. A dog barks somewhere in the distance. The swing creaks.

‘Coaching kids while Kageyama’s playing in the Olympics,’ Oikawa mutters, sulky, and Iwaizumi rolls his eyes.

‘Everyone’s got to retire some time, stupid.’

‘I’m going to play until I’m forty.’ Oikawa folds his arms. ‘And then I’ll play from my wheelchair when my knees give out and I have to cut them off.’

Iwaizumi snorts. ‘I feel sorry for your future wife.’

Oikawa’s small smile shivers and dies, replaced with an expression that Iwaizumi can’t read. ‘My poor wife,’ he agrees evenly, carefully.

Iwaizumi swallows and looks away, back towards the gate - away from Oikawa’s knuckles, clenched white even in the darkness. ‘Um,’ he starts.

‘I -’ Oikawa says, at the same time, and they both stop short.

‘You first,’ Iwaizumi says.

‘I just -’ Oikawa begins, ‘it might be difficult to get married, sometimes, I think.’ He chews on his lip.

‘I mean - yeah, professional athletes have a hard life -’

‘No,’ Oikawa says, ‘not that.’ He rolls the sides of his feet against the asphalt.

Iwaizumi makes a questioning noise.

‘Ah,’ Oikawa says, and then, in a rush, ‘if I didn't want a wife at all - what then? If I said that to you. If I told you I can’t see it. Like - the wedding dress. The bride. I just can’t see it.’

Iwaizumi swallows again, his heart beating much faster than the conversation warrants. He wonders whether Oikawa can hear it. ‘You’re eighteen. You aren’t supposed to see it yet.’ He snorts. ‘I mean - if we’re sharing shit, I’ve never even kissed a girl.’ He doesn’t mind admitting it. It’s not something that bothers him - he’s never prioritised girls very highly, and despite Oikawa’s largely undeserved status as Miyagi’s most eligible teenage bachelor, he doesn’t think Oikawa has ever wanted a serious relationship with any of his fan club, either.

The moon has emerged from behind a set of grey, cottony clouds, giving Iwaizumi a better chance of decoding the expressions flickering across Oikawa’s face. ‘I’ve never kissed a girl either,’ he says.

Iwaizumi - despite being very aware of Oikawa’s priorities, because they’re the same as his - is surprised. ‘What, none?’

‘Nope,’ Oikawa says, sounding a little gloomy. ‘No girls.’

‘Why not? You could have kissed anyone.’

Oikawa laughs. ‘Well, I’ve kissed anyones,’ he says, with a sly sideways glance.

Iwaizumi swallows, fiddling with the chain-loop in his hands. ‘Uh - what?’

‘Boys,’ Oikawa says wearily. ‘There are a few. That I’ve kissed. Keep up, Iwa-chan.’

‘Um,’ Iwaizumi says, and he berates himself for the hopelessly inadequate response to Oikawa’s confession. ‘That’s - fine.’ His mind feels curiously cautious with the new information, as though it’s afraid to touch it.

‘I know it’s fine,’ Oikawa snaps, before his eyes flicker away, and his mouth turns sullen.

‘I know you know it’s fine!’ Iwaizumi says quickly, holding up a placating hand. ‘I just meant - if you’d thought I would care. I don’t. Care. About who you’re kissing.’

Oikawa laughs a little too loudly in the quiet. Nervously, Iwaizumi thinks. ‘You don’t care at all?’

Iwaizumi thinks about Oikawa’s mouth touching a different pair of lips: soft, maybe - or chapped - full, perhaps, but possibly thin. Had the kisses been rushed, in a bathroom, a clubroom, a street corner hidden from view? Or had he kissed boys in the safety of boxed-in bedrooms - had he been able to take his time, find out what they liked? What had he liked about them? Did Iwaizumi know any of them? Had any of them lasted more than one night?

‘I -’ Iwaizumi says, and stops. He takes a deep breath, and the words come out without him fully committing to them, because they’re true, and he can’t deny them. ‘I care. Of course I care.’

Oikawa rocks back and forth slowly and rhythmically, his feet never leaving the ground. Iwaizumi watches his thighs tense and relax. They’re like a tide, and Iwaizumi has always loved the sea.

‘Yeah,’ says Oikawa, ‘because tragically, and despite my best efforts, you’re still my best friend, and because - despite how often you insist the contrary - you want me to be happy. That kind of care,’ Oikawa says to the ground.

Iwaizumi shakes his head. ‘Yes,’ he says, feeling a rising desperation that he’s not used to, ‘yes, but - not just that - it’s…’ He twirls around in his seat, metal rope groaning as it scratches against metal rope. ‘I care about who you’re kissing. Generally.’ He scowls at Oikawa in an attempt at mitigating his own vulnerability, but he knows he’s blushing - he can feel the heat rising like a fire up from his chest to his neck to his cheeks.

Oikawa takes a few moments to speak, his breath sounding more laboured than it usually does. ‘Why?’ he manages, finally, and Iwaizumi can hear the strain in the question.

Iwaizumi frowns. ‘Do I have to say it,’ he mutters, flushing.

‘Yes,’ Oikawa says immediately, chewing hard on his fingernail again.

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and pulls Oikawa’s hand away from his mouth, interlocking their fingers together. ‘Stop that,’ he says gruffly, into his lap, unable to meet Oikawa’s round, shocked eyes, because then he’ll have to acknowledge what’s happening, and he's not sure he even believes it himself.   
  
‘Iwa-chan,’ Oikawa whispers, sounding starry and amazed, but he keeps his fingers weaved in amongst Iwaizumi’s. Even though their palms are both clammy with sweat, and even though both their fingers are shaking minutely against each other’s, it is the greatest moment of Iwaizumi’s life thus far. It’s the high of seeing over the net, but amplified. He mentally re-orders his priorities. Volleyball is still up there. But - really - it’s Oikawa, isn’t it? It’s always been Oikawa.

‘Are we doing this?’ Oikawa asks, voice cracking like logs on a fire, ‘is this - is this for real? Are you gonna conveniently forget about it tomorrow? Because, like, if you’re gonna act like this didn’t happen you need to tell me now - I don’t want to get my hopes up - not that I’m hoping for anything, obviously -’

‘Jesus, do you ever shut up,’ Iwaizumi mutters, and with a surge of courage he grabs the ropes to Oikawa’s swing and pulls, so that the two of them are suddenly much closer, and Iwaizumi can just make out the shapes of Oikawa’s shocked face up close, his mouth loose and unguarded. Unguarded - and vulnerable to attack in the form of Iwaizumi’s own mouth, so he does what he’s wanted to do since he was twelve years old, and presses their lips together.

‘I like you,’ Iwaizumi says, after he draws back. His voice sounds different to his own ears, but he doesn’t understand why. ‘So obviously I’m not gonna pretend it didn’t happen.’

Oikawa blinks, tilting his head to one side. His eyes are hazy and glittery. ‘Hmm,’ he says, and a wobbly smile spreads slowly across his face.

‘“ _Hmm_ ”?’ Iwaizumi repeats, outraged. ‘Are you gonna be a dick about this?’

Oikawa laughs, bright and giddy as a merry-go-round, and Iwaizumi claps a hand over Oikawa’s mouth without thinking about it. It’s past midnight, now - the last thing Iwaizumi needs is for someone to interrupt them. He can feel Oikawa’s lips smiling against his palm. He removes his hand, but he can still feel the warmth where Oikawa’s mouth had been.  
  
‘Well,’ Oikawa says, and his voice is unsteady in the same way it had when the team had surprised him with a birthday cake, ‘yeah, I guess, why change a winning formula?’ He peace-signs, and continues, ‘After all, it obviously works on you.’

‘Your dick does _not_ work on me,’ Iwaizumi hisses, incensed.

Oikawa laughs at him; Iwaizumi can see the glitter of his teeth as it fades into a grin. ‘Give it time,’ he says, and then yelps when Iwaizumi punches him in the ribs. ‘White flag, Iwa-chan!’

There’s a sudden silence, and with it, a renewed awkwardness. Iwaizumi doesn’t know how to proceed: should he take Oikawa’s hand, and place it in his lap? Should he kiss him again? Should he use tongue, this time? He imagines it, briefly - Oikawa straddling his lap as the swing rocks them like the sea, his body pinning Iwaizumi down like a rock. He swallows, pulling his mind out of dangerous waters. Not here, not now, not yet.

A cat yowls, somewhere beyond the gate, and they both turn towards the sound. It breaks the enveloping tension, and they both catch each other’s eye with a wry smile. It’s still a little shy, a little tentative, but that’s okay, Iwaizumi thinks.

‘Iwa-chan,’ Oikawa says, ‘we should probably head home.’

‘Yeah,’ Iwaizumi says unenthusiastically, thinking how unappealing an idea that is, and how he wants nothing more than to stay in this moment for the rest of his life. His lack of desire to go home must be audible, because Oikawa laughs and suddenly is kissing him again. It’s still clean and neat, but it lasts a little longer, and there’s a moment where Iwaizumi thinks - with a blissful mania he's never felt before - that it’s going to deepen, but then Oikawa pulls away and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. Iwaizumi feels a little offended.

He quickly forgets any negative thoughts he'd ever had when Oikawa stands and stretches, arching his back, cat-like. Iwaizumi watches the hard lines of his body undulate, and his throat constricts. Oikawa catches him staring and snorts.

He says, ‘You’re allowed to touch, you know,' before quickly adding, ‘but like - only my hand. For now. We’re in _public_ , Iwa-chan, you pervert -’

Iwaizumi huffs out a laugh and stands up too. The swing creaks gently behind him. ‘Duly noted,’ he says drily, but when he takes Oikawa’s hand he holds onto it tightly and doesn’t let go as they walk towards the gate - towards a less liminal space, where he won’t be able to touch Oikawa like this, when the sun eventually rises and takes their quiet, new freedom away with the safety of the darkness. But for now, the dark blue blanket overhead is a safe cocoon, and they walk out into their street with their fingers entwined. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> [inspired by this art, with permission!](http://sleep-pose.tumblr.com/post/125035555660/another-old-sketch-i-colored-in)
> 
>  
> 
> i saw this gorgeous art and loved it so much (and especially what the artist wrote in the tags - i urge you to read them!!) that i asked if i could write a fic inspired by it <3 and thankfully i was allowed :>


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